Inside the Train Carriage
"Tickets, please."
A ticket inspector with a waxy yellow face and heavy dark circles drifted toward them like a ghost.
His movements were stiff and mechanical, a pair of ticket clippers held loosely in his hand.
"Tickets?"
Inosuke was idly flipping a gold koban in his fingers. Hearing the voice, he lazily lifted his eyelids.
His inborn сверх-keen senses immediately picked up something wrong—the aura on this man was muddy, foul.
Not just unpleasant, but ominous.
"Here."
Inosuke handed over the ticket naturally—but didn't let go.
The instant the inspector reached for it, Inosuke's fingers snapped tight, pinching the corner of the ticket hard.
"Hey, clipper-boy."
Inosuke stared straight into the inspector's cloudy eyes, baring two small tiger fangs, his tone sharp.
"This ticket cost me a fortune."
"If you dare clip it crooked, or let the scraps fall on my clothes—"
He tapped the spider-silk-wrapped twin blades at his waist.
"I'll stuff those clippers up your nose and help you trim your nose hair."
The inspector shuddered, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.
"Y-yes! I'll be very careful!"
Snip.
An extremely cautious cut.
The moment the ticket was clipped, a strange ripple spread through the air.
The scent of ink mixed with demon blood.
Lower Rank One — Enmu's Blood Demon Art, activated.
"Haah—"
Inosuke suddenly let out a huge yawn. His eyelids felt like they had weights hanging off them.
"Weird… why am I suddenly so sleepy… must be from fighting that owl uncle over bentos…"
"Zzzzz..."
Zenitsu beside him had already fallen dead asleep. Tanjiro swayed and leaned against the window, eyes closing.
Even Rengoku Kyojuro, arms crossed and posture straight, sank into deep sleep.
"Tch… a bunch of idiots…"
Inosuke muttered. His body tilted, his head resting on his arms, and he too slipped into darkness.
Even in the last second before losing consciousness, his hand still clutched the money pouch to his chest.
The Dream
This was Inosuke's dream—
the world his subconscious desired most.
"Young Master! Young Master! Today's net profit has been tallied!"
A familiar voice rang out.
Inosuke opened his eyes.
He wasn't on that rattling old train anymore.
He was seated in a dazzling, outrageously luxurious grand hall.
The solemn Paradise Cult hall had transformed into pools of flowing gold.
What bloomed in them were not lotus flowers, but money trees carved from rubies and emeralds.
He himself wore a haori woven entirely from pure gold thread. A red-and-gold crown rested on his head as he lounged lazily on a massive throne carved from white jade.
"Oh? How much?"
He waved a solid-gold fan, asking casually.
Below him, frantically clicking an abacus and reporting with utmost devotion—
was Kibutsuji Muzan.
Only this Muzan wore a butler's black suit, his face full of humility and obsequiousness.
"Reporting to Young Master! Today's revenue is eight hundred million gold koban! The Demon Slayer Corps sent over this month's protection fee again!"
"Mm. Not bad."
Inosuke nodded in satisfaction, casually scooping up a handful of gold pieces and tossing them at Muzan like feeding a dog.
"Your reward. Go buy some pig blood to drink. Don't starve yourself skinny."
"Thank you for your great mercy!"
Butler Muzan wept with gratitude as he knelt and gathered the gold.
On both sides of the hall stood Inosuke's followers.
On the left—a raccoon dog standing upright, carrying a huge box on its back.
It held up a sign that read: "The Young Master Is Always Right."
On the right—a trembling yellow mouse massaging Inosuke's legs while crying:
"Boss! I want tempura too! I don't want cheese!"
"So noisy, Chitteritsu."
Inosuke kicked the mouse-Zenitsu away.
"Go pour wine for my old man."
In the corner of the hall, a man in flamboyant cult robes squatted with a wine cup, looking pitiful.
It was Doma.
But no longer the exalted Upper Rank Two—
now just a smiling mascot.
"Did you finish your work today?"
Inosuke looked down at him.
"Did you dig the hundred jin of bamboo shoots in the back mountain? My mom wants bamboo shoots stir-fried with pork."
"I—I finished…"
Dream-Doma cowered, utterly lacking his former sly presence.
"Um… baby… I kind of want to buy a new fan…"
"No buying."
Inosuke rejected him coldly.
"Your allowance has already been docked."
"Waaah—Kanaho-chan, our son is bullying me…"
Doma turned and threw himself into the arms of a gentle woman nearby.
Kanaho.
Dressed in luxurious robes, beautiful like a goddess.
She smiled, patted Doma's head, then looked toward Inosuke on the dais with pure indulgence in her eyes.
"Inosuke, don't be too hard on your dad. He's dumb, but he's still labor, you know."
"Got it, Mom."
Inosuke instantly turned obedient. He jumped off the throne and burrowed into Kanaho's arms.
"As long as Mom's happy, I won't sell this old man to the circus."
This was Inosuke's dream.
He was the boss.
He was the creditor.
He was king of the world.
Muzan or Doma, Hashira or demons—
all of them were just his workers.
His only job was to protect Kanaho's smile
and count money until his hands cramped.
The Intruder
While Inosuke basked in his fantasy of wealth, in the real world, four children controlled by Enmu had already linked the sleepers' wrists with special cords and invaded their dreams.
The one who entered Inosuke's dream was an ordinary-looking girl.
She held an awl and stood dumbfounded in this absurd dreamscape.
"W-what is this place?!"
She stared in shock.
Other people's subconscious realms were grassy plains or warm homes.
This place?
The ground was paved with gold bricks.
Trees were carved from jade.
Even the clouds in the sky were winged gold coins flying around.
"So bright! It reeks of money!"
She shielded her eyes, nearly blinded by the glare.
"Whatever. As long as I find the spiritual core and destroy it, this Demon Slayer is finished!"
Gripping her awl, she carefully moved through this golden Paradise Cult.
She saw Muzan fanning Inosuke.
Saw Doma hauling bricks.
Saw raccoon-dog Tanjiro eating tempura.
Finally—
Deep within the hall, she spotted a massive safe plastered with seals.
Written on it in huge characters:
MY LIFEBLOOD
"Found it!"
She was ecstatic.
Such an obvious weakness—it was practically free points!
She rushed over, raised the awl, and aimed for the keyhole.
"As long as I destroy this, I can finally have a good dream!"
Just as the awl was about to touch—
BEEP.
A shrill alarm echoed throughout the dream.
The golden hall plunged into darkness.
A bone-chilling cold surged up from the abyss.
"Hey."
A lazy voice sounded.
"Which suicidal thief dares touch my vault?"
The girl stiffly turned around.
Inosuke—who had been lounging on the throne—was now standing behind her.
But he had changed.
No longer a human boy in brocade.
Massive boar tusks made of ice jutted from his cheeks.
Behind him loomed a colossal ice Buddha with seven-colored eyes—
holding a gigantic abacus.
This was Inosuke's subconscious defense system.
A legacy inherited straight from his father.
"You didn't buy a ticket, did you?"
Dream-Inosuke grinned, revealing rows of sharp teeth.
His hand transformed into a massive beast claw, clamping down on the girl's shoulder.
"Unauthorized entry onto private property."
"Attempted destruction of private assets."
"Too ugly—damaging the city's appearance."
With each charge, the ice Buddha snapped a bead on the abacus—
Clack.
Each sound shook the girl's body and soul.
"According to the Rules of Inosuke—"
He leaned close to her deathly pale face, green eyes gleaming with calculating red light.
"You owe me one hundred million gold koban."
"I—I don't have money!"
"No money?!"
"Then stay here and wash dishes for the rest of your life!!!"
"Aaaaah!!!"
The girl screamed.
She wasn't killed.
She was driven insane by the suffocating pressure of capitalist terror.
Reality
Inside the train carriage, Inosuke's sleeping brow suddenly furrowed.
His hand clawed at the air—reaching for the thief who dared steal his vault.
The cord connecting him to the girl began to tremble violently—
Snap.
It broke.
The girl sitting opposite him snapped her eyes open, foaming at the mouth, convulsing.
She babbled incoherently:
"I have no money! I don't want to wash dishes! Don't hit me with the abacus!"
Inosuke didn't wake up.
But even in sleep, his keen senses caught a trace of something wrong—
the aura of a demon.
And… the smell of fire?
"Mm?"
He rolled over, mumbling indistinctly.
"Third lackey, that's my tempura, don't eat it… go eat Blondie's, he doesn't like it…"
"Let me sleep a bit more… sell that poker-face guy's daikon…"
The boundary between dream and reality was slowly, steadily breaking.
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